


Bug Fix

by officialvarrictethras



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialvarrictethras/pseuds/officialvarrictethras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrote this to fix that annoying little bug where Varric was unromanceable and the aftermath of his personal quest offered little to no resolution! c:</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bug Fix

As they watch Bianca leave the hall, Varric’s shoulders slump a little. Breathing out a heavy sigh, the storyteller leans his forearms on the table and stares at the roaring fire. The Inquisitor fidgets uncertainly as she shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. Words have never really been her forte, and now that she’s here, her carefully crafted speech is entirely forgotten.

"Well, I’m glad to have answers but…  _shit._ The second she showed up here, I knew. I just… I let this mess happen.”

"Is your relationship always like that?" asks Aysunn quietly, shuffling forward a step.

Varric snorts out a derisive laugh.”More or less. Usually there’s less… _betrayal._ I’m just not good at dealing with shit like this.”

“So stop being evasive. Just confront it.”

 

Varric grimaces. “You know it took me three years to confront my brother for trying to have me killed? And even then I had to have someone there to hold my hand.”

Aysunn frowns as the dwarf turns away from her, running his hands through his hair and mussing the sleek half-tail a bit. “Varric…”

“If Cassandra hadn’t dragged me out here, I’d be in Kirkwall right now, pretending none of this was happening,” he mutters, cutting across her and scowling, disgusted with his own cowardice.

“You know that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it?”

The silence drags on a little as Varric looks everywhere but at her. The flames crackle merrily in the hearth, the conversations around them progress, oblivious — the pair of them continue to dance around their feelings like teenagers, tongue-tied and embarrassed. Truth be told, Varric’s picked up on her advances, her little smiles just for him, her way of making him feel warm all over… He hates to admit how much he likes it. He goes out of his way to sit next to her in the tavern, to feel her thigh brushing against his, to better hear her laugh, but now? Now it’s too real, too sudden. And like always, he wants to run.

Suddenly, she’s touching his hand, lacing her fingers with his and squeezing. “You deserve better,” she says quietly.

In a daze, Varric looks down at their interwoven hands, feeling as if he swallowed his silver tongue. “Right,” he croaks, looking up at her blearily. “And who’s going to give me better? A washed up old fool like me?”

“I… could.”

Positive that he misheard her, Varric looks up just in time to see her bending. and she’s suddenly  _there_ , lips inches from his, clawed hand cupping his jaw, eyes lidded.

“Aysunn…”

“I  _want_  to,” she whispers, and he really should stop her but —

She kisses him, soft and sweet, and  _Maker_ , she has no right to taste this good, to make him feel  _this good_ , and before he can really come to terms with what is happening, before his brain can really register…

She pulls away.

Wordlessly, she brushes past him, leaving him reeling, the taste of her still on his lips, leaving his mind scrabbling for purchase. Fingers slipping from his grasp, Aysunn barely bumps into his shoulder as she walks away. Dumbstruck, Varric turns sharply on his heel to watch her go, to call out, but too late.

The Inquisitor slips past the door leading to her chambers without a backward glance.

“…Shit.”

—

Leaning on her banister, gazing out across the moonlit peaks frosted with snow, Aysunn tries to think about something else,  _anything_  else other than the kiss that had occurred hours previous. Leliana and Cassandra, Cullen and Josephine have all been knocking at the door, and their calls go unheeded. Whatever disaster is occuring will simply have to wait. At first, she paces, moving with purpose to the staircase, intent upon stalking back down to the hall and explaining properly…

But then she stops, fingers curling and uncurling into fists at her sides… And returns to her balcony, defeated by fear and uncertainty.

Hours pass this way, somewhere between acceptance and regret, and she soon stands by the banister, unmoving.

There’s an odd sound, quite suddenly, from her door at the bottom of the stairs. Turning a little towards the sound, Aysunn waits — and the satisfying click of her door becoming unlocked echoes through the room. Heart like thunder behind her ribs, she leans back against the banister, waiting. If the visitor is who she thinks, she can’t move even if she wants to. Her knuckles turn white with strain as she grips the banister for support.

And then Varric is standing there, plain as day, staring at her like a blind man seeing the sunrise for the first time. Surreptitiously, he tucks his lockpicks back into the pocket of his duster.

“I…” he begins, but it would appear his voice fails him. He trails off, and swallows hard. “Been thinking,” he starts again, taking slow, careful steps towards her. Maker, but the way her hair catches the moonlight — it almost makes it hard to draw breath. Varric clears his throat. Aysunn doesn’t move.

“About?” she asks, almost  _too_  casually.

“Truthfully?” He wets his lips. “That kiss.”

Now he’s within arms’ reach, little details of his face coming into stark contrast. The stubble on his jaw, the stray whisps of hair coming free of his half-tail. Aysunn takes a deep breath to steel herself.

“I’d… like to try again, if…” With an exasperated sigh, Varric rubs the back of his neck. “Shit, I really am  _no_  good at this.”

“It’s a wonder you got Bianca at all, really,” says Aysunn quietly, and one corner of Varric’s mouth quirks slowly upward in a lopsided grin.

“A miracle.”

A warm hand, with elegant, clawed fingers caresses his cheek, and he leans into the touch ever so slightly. And all of a sudden, she’s there again, those sweet lips a fraction from his own, her breath warm on his face. Eyelashes brushing against her high cheekbones, silver skin painted like white gold by the moonlight — Varric hardly wants to take his eyes off her. But she’s  _there_ and  _real_  and more than some  _letter_  from a married woman a continent away.

This time, he kisses  _her._ Breathing shakily through his nose, he leans forwards, steals those last few inches. His lips find hers, overlap them, mold against them like clay. That sweet softness, Maker preserve him, is utterly _maddening_. Combined with the feeling of her fingers moving through his hair — He barely even registers the fact that she’s moving them towards the bed until his calves hit the side and he topples backward with a surprised grunt.

In a heartbeat, Aysunn is atop him, straddling his waist. Automatically, his hands come to rest at her hips, even has the fingers kneading her flesh tremble a little. Her weight pressing against him is more than he’s used to but… it is not unwelcome.

Biting upon her lower lip, and watching his face closely for signs of displeasure, Aysunn slowly unbuttons her tunic, revealing a sliver of silver skin beneath, and Varric’s breath catches in his throat.

Discarding the tunic, and leaving her in a breast band and trousers, the Inquisitor leans down until their lips are barely apart.

“What about Bianca?”

He smiles that crooked, lopsided smirk at her, gently squeezing her hips. “Bianca who?” And when she kisses him again, his clever fingers find the laces of her breast band and loosen them.

Morning finds them cocooned together beneath the sheets and comforters, but Varric isn’t asleep. Her head nestled beneath his chin, her fingers twitching against his bare chest, his arm around her shoulders — truly, it’s the most at peace he’s been in…  _years._ A quiet hum of contentment escapes her. A bird twitters its merry song outside the balcony door.

“Better than Bianca,” he mumbles to her sleeping form, and presses a kiss to her horned brow.


End file.
